


When They Bloom

by scampadversary



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aphrodisiacs, Bad Ending, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Masochism, Needles, Rough Sex, Sadism, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:25:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scampadversary/pseuds/scampadversary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryuuhou, after drugging Aoba, has gone to get more materials. In this universe, Koujaku doesn't come. No one comes and Aoba is slowly transformed into Ryuuhou's "masterpiece."</p>
            </blockquote>





	When They Bloom

_So heavy_. Aoba tries to curl his left hand into a fist – his index finger moves, but only slightly. _Heavy... Shit. Shit. I’m a fucking idiot._ The drug Ryuuhou had slipped him shows no sign of wearing off. So he lies on the ground, unmoving. If only he could reach his bag and get Ren. But he’s sure that Ryuuhou’s taken Ren away, sure that he’s been isolated completely. Straining his eyes, Aoba examines the tattoo sketches on the wall. Their calligraphic lines and delicate details seem familiar. Ah, that flashy girl with the spider AllMate had a tattoo like one pinned there. No, that wasn’t it. What was it? What _was_ it? Those designs…

As Aoba furrows his brow in frustration, he hears the door slide open, followed by Ryuuhou’s voice, still polite, but with something sinister in its breathy lightness. “I have everything I need. We’ll begin in a moment.” Aoba doesn’t respond. Part of him knows he should worry about what Ryuuhou’s return means, but this unreachable thought eats at him, tearing his attention away. _Why have I seen this before? Where? Why? Dammit._ His mind brushes against the answer, but still, nothing. He’s only vaguely aware of the sound of steps Ryuuhou makes towards him.

“Admiring my work?” Aoba’s eyes snap to the right. Ryuuhou leans down with a wide smile.

“That large one, the flowers, is my greatest masterpiece.  Surely you’ve seen it before.” Ah. In Glitter, he had caught a glimpse of the same design, filled in with soft pinks and green. Through a cracked door, the person’s back to him… _Koujaku_. “Ah, but you can’t see properly from there. Let me help you.”

“Ugh!” Ryuuhou had grabbed Aoba’s hair, jerking his head back.  Aoba lets out another strangled cry of agony as electricity runs down his spine, sparking in his vision, biting his sides. The tattooist’s eyes gleam, flashing the blue Aoba has seen many times at the center of a flame, painfully hot to touch despite its icy color. He smiles, “You have sensation here? How intriguing.” As though to test it, he runs his free hand’s fingers through the paralyzed boy’s hair, watching his expression warp in response. Even with this intense sensation clawing his very thoughts apart, Aoba can’t so much as flinch.

“Let go,” Aoba manages to whimper.

“If you insist.”  Ryuuhou abruptly lets go, watching Aoba’s head fall to the ground with a thud. “I haven’t made just one design for you, Aoba. How the ink mixes with your skin will decide which one to use for me. You’ll become my new masterpiece.” Ryuuhou places his hand on Aoba, tracing his fingers along his shoulder blades and spine. Aoba’s uncomfortably aware of this slight touch, brushing what feels like every inch of his back.

“Will it be white chrysanthemums blooming in silent grief? Or perhaps a blue carnation of disdain… fascination. Both are flowers meant to draw out from you one thing – truth.”

“I don’t want any fucking tattoo from you, you asshole,” Aoba growls.

Ryuuhou ignores Aoba’s protest, muttering, “First I need to properly prepare my canvas.” Aoba grinds his teeth as he’s yanked off the ground. _Fuck, if this prick was going to strip me he could have done it while I was passed out._ Aoba wants to slap himself because his thoughts are already resigned to this. He shouldn’t be thinking that way, but Ren’s gone, Koujaku is god knows where. He’s been caught and maybe the part of him that just spoke is right, maybe he should accept it if that will make it more bearable. His coat is torn off of him, followed by his shirt. Finally placed back on the ground, he unclenches his jaw, only to gasp as his bottom half lifts up. _No. No no no._

Aoba feels the denim slide off his legs, and then – “The hell? S-stop!” More fabric ripples as it’s peeled away from his body. Now he’s completely bare, exposed. Fear and disgust eat at him, along with anticipation of Ryuuhou’s next words.

“Ah, beautiful. This truly _will_ be a masterpiece,” Ryuuhou murmurs to himself, absorbed as he runs his eyes over Aoba’s naked form. Aoba hears the snap of Ryuuhou adjusting his gloves, the metallic ring of him preparing his needles, thicker than the ones Mizuki uses. _Used_ , Aoba remembers with a twang of guilt. _I deserve this, probably_ , he thinks as he feels Ryuuhou’s hand touch him, hold his skin taut between his fingers.

And then he screams. Ryuuhou stabs the needles into Aoba’s left shoulderblade over and over and over. He sticks them under Aoba’s skin in the same spot, maybe a pore over from the last one, but Aoba can’t tell the difference. It stings, a prick worse than that of a wasp and more enduring, more invasive. _No, I don’t. I don’t deserve this I don’t deserve this I don’t, no one deserves this I don’t deserve this I do not do not don’t don’t don’t I don’t_.

He groans as the pain flares across his back. He’s sure that even his hands are burning, his neck is burning, his leg. The needles bore into him. He’s lost track of where, it feels like he’s being carved into a grotesque figure, a wretched set of intricate lines that go right through him. They’re deeper than his body, deeper than his thoughts and nightmares and everything else. His entire back screams, his nerves scream, their shrieking in his ears, rattling his mind, escaping as choked whimpers. 

* * *

Ryuuhou hums to himself as his hands slowly travel across and down Aoba’s back. His canvas is perfectly still and he doubts it would be any different had Aoba not been drugged. After struggling for the first thirty minutes, other men tended to give up, accepting Ryuuhou’s skilled hands. And how beautifully Aoba accepts the ink, its white outline shining against reddened skin, perfect. Chrysanthemums and carnations. Ryuuhou knows he can’t choose between these flowers, so he merges the two designs, one traditional, one new. A perfect symbol of change and transformation.

Aoba cries, tears streaming down his face, agony coursing through him. His throat is raw. His eyes sting almost as much as the tattoo does, dry from being emptied so quickly. Aoba chokes. He shrieks and manages to gasp out, “Stop.”

Ryuuhou’s needles reach the upper part of Aoba’s butt and pierce and the pain Aoba felt from the first prick an hour before returns like a freshly cracked whip. He thinks he’s going pass out. He notices his throat tighten and contort, and he starts to panic because it feels like his vocal chords will be torn out along with his screams. He can’t move. He can’t claw at the ground, bite himself, find a distraction. He needs to forget the lashes of pain. _Ah_. He can find comfort in a thought. He can. He can. Because he was wrong, he realizes. He _does_ deserve this. It’s only the right thing to make up for everything. For destroying Mizuki, for ruining the important bond he had with Koujaku, for being so worthless and weak. _I deserve this. I deserve this. I deserve this._ Aoba chants these words in his head and forgets time. Time doesn’t exist. Only something numb, measured in units of the idea _I deserve this_. 

* * *

As Ryuuhou pulls his hand away with soft laughter, praising him – “You did very well, Aoba.” – Aoba is relieved because he knows that the pain that still engulfs all of him will recede and he will have deserved it all, even at the hands of someone like Ryuuhou. Even in such a place. Especially in such a place. _I deserve this_ , Aoba thinks, starting to black out.

He doesn’t black out.

“Ah, but there’s one thing I missed.” Aoba manages to turn his head, realizing that the paralysis had probably worn off a while ago without him noticing. Pain immobilizes him just as effectively. For a moment he hopes that the small syringe in Ryuuhou’s gloved hand will let him sleep, will ease his suffering some, but he knows better than to cling onto that thought. Aoba wishes he hadn’t looked.

He’s torn further and further away from the peace of a blank mind as Ryuuhou leans over him. Ryuuhou places a gloved hand on his leg with a careful, sure touch. It leisurely slides up Aoba’s left leg and he’s horrified by how aware he is of every finger running across him, light and disturbing. A chill runs through Aoba as Ryuuhou’s hand reaches his inner thigh and gently pushes his legs apart. Ryuuhou lingers for a moment, drawing on Aoba’s skin, tracing up, down, right, left, round, round, round. Then, Aoba flinches. He yelps. Yet again, a needle stings him and he is perfectly helpless to the clear liquid that enters his bloodstream.

“I thought you were done,” Aoba murmurs, sure that what he means to be a glare is more along the lines of a grimace.

“With the tattoo. For now, at least. But I never told you I was finished, Aoba-kun.” Aoba hears Ryuuhou place several objects onto the table where he unsuspectingly accepted tea earlier. Then, the snap of latex reaches his ears and he realizes that Ryuuhou has taken off his skulls, his magatama, and his black gloves. However, much to Aoba’s confusion, the sliding of the room’s door follows and Ryuuhou slips out.

Worse than anything is the silence, disconcerting and still. Dazed, Aoba doesn’t think about escaping. That option flew away along with his physical strength. Instead, he wonders when Ryuuhou will return. _What was that shot?_ Maybe nothing much after all, something standard after getting a tattoo. That’s as far as his thoughts can take him – they’re still clouded by the pain of Ryuuhou’s needles. Before he can get further anyway, Ryuuhou reenters the room, lowering a tray onto the table beside Aoba. _More tea? Why?_

Aoba waits for Ryuuhou to speak, but he doesn’t. He just stares. Angry, Aoba turns his head the other way. He’s immediately embarrassed by his childish act of rebellion. At least it was something he could do after being so pathetic for so long, long before Ryuuhou even kidnapped him. There’s not much left now. He’s left with Ryuuhou happily sipping his tea and watching, watching, his gaze burning just as much as the tattoo does. Aoba tries to doze off, but that feeling begins to gnaw at him. Burning, burning, burning. He tries to shift and gasps. Burning, a fire that feeds on every movement, every part of him that meets the cool air is ablaze. It’s raging and roaring. _Put it out, put it out, no more_.

“About now, it seems.” Ryuuhou’s kimono ruffles as he rises, the cup in his hand replaced by a small bottle. This is what he was waiting for. Leaning over Aoba, he doesn’t uncap the bottle yet. Instead, he slips a hand under Aoba and brushes against Aoba’s erection, hard and twitching. Aoba moans as his skin tingles and he feels himself being reduced to a white tangle of need. _Put it out_.

“Such a state you’re in, you poor thing,” Ryuuhou coos. “Shall I make it better?” Ryuuhou had injected him with an aphrodisiac, _that_ was the source of these flames, but the shot from just thirty minutes before is already far from Aoba’s thoughts. Ryuuhou teases the head of his cock and he wants to cry and move against that skilled hand, fingers trained by hours of intricate work, but his back still stings and he’s weak. All he can do is move his hips slightly. Ryuuhou laughs quietly and pulls his hand away. Aoba whines.

He’s losing it. He’s furious at his body for betraying him like this but he’s angrier at the state he’s in, at how desperate he is to satisfy himself. He needs it to stop, he needs it to stop, _I need it to stop, I need it to stop, I need it, I need it, I need. Need_.

“I know, Aoba-kun,” Ryuuhou whispers, uncapping the bottle he carried over with him. Spreading Aoba with one hand, he squeezes out the contents over Aoba’s asshole and discards the container. Aoba shivers.

“Don’t worry, I’ll prepare you carefully. I’m always careful.” Ryuuhou caresses Aoba’s back and Aoba winces, the tattoo still raw despite the fire reaching every other corner of his body. Tears well up as Ryuuhou continues to lovingly trace his design and Aoba hurts in so many ways, he has so many things he does and doesn’t want. Ryuuhou slides a finger into Aoba, who cries out in pleasure and anguish.  It twists inside of him almost lazily, teasing out more strangled whimpers with the slightest bend.

The relief at just being _touched_ starts to fade away as Ryuuhou continues fingering him and it’s again replaced by shame, rage, desire. Trying to suppress his reaction to the pleasure flying through him, Aoba clenches his jaw and hears Ryuuhou chuckle yet again. The laughter is pleasant and cruel and uninvolved and pleased all at once. Ryuuhou grabs Aoba’s jaw tight. He squeezes. _Oh no, you can’t stifle your voice_ , the grip silently demands, pressing hard. Aoba grinds his teeth together in resistance, not willing to yield this one thing. _Not this. You’re taking everything else, so not this_.

He screams. Ryuuhou’s finger has been joined by two more. They move deliberately, scissoring, spreading him with a hard and fast rhythm. Before Aoba can close his mouth again, Ryuuhou shoves a few of the fingers from his other hand into Aoba’s mouth.

“I wouldn’t recommend biting, Aoba-kun. My hands are my most valuable tools, after all.” The warning isn’t needed. Saliva pools in Aoba’s slack mouth. He can’t speak. He can’t, he can’t, not with Ryuuhou curling his three fingers inside him, hitting a spot that burns more than his dripping cock. He cries and he cries out, a drool running down his chin, precum covering the futon, ass twitching. He moans and moans and moans and _god no god no stop stop don’t don’t don’t keep going don’t stop no stop I can’t I can’t_.

Just as unbearable as Ryuuhou’s unforgiving hands is their sudden absence. Aoba sinks further into anger and despair, ready for his mind to go blank. A familiar pain flashes through his head, bleeding into his vision, but it recedes and he’s left with the more immediate agony of raw skin and desire, both flaring even without stimulation. Ryuuhou begins to move, his motions still eerily practiced. He pushes at Aoba slowly, his grip powerful enough to prevent him from rolling over completely, gentle enough to feel almost erotic. Again, the tattooist runs his hand down one of Aoba’s legs. The sensation crawls past his inner thigh, past his knee, reaching his calf and resting there for a moment. Ryuuhou lifts Aoba’s leg up, not bothered by its dead weight, and hoists it over his shoulder, moving his own body – still neatly covered by that deep blue kimono – to straddle the leg still on the ground. The discomfort of Aoba’s torso twisting, his right hip pressing _hard_ against the thin futon, his legs being held apart, suspended, and feeling like they belonged to him even _less_ than before when they lay motionless, traitors to their owner, barely enter Aoba’s consciousness. Nothing did now. Not fully, at least.

He feels something hard and hot pushing at him. Well, he’d have to be an idiot not to know exactly what that something is, but it eases the shame of him being stretched open once more to not put a word to it. It’s good, though. It’s good. _Finally, finally, finally, finally._ Part of him whispers, _Just let him fuck you. Let him and it will feel amazing. Let him. It feels good. It’s good, right?_ Yes, it is, so good, exactly what his body has been aching for. His head throbs once again, ripples of pain passing through him and he’s not quite sure what part of him torments him most. Pleasure below condemns him and even more drool trails down his chin as that itch is thoroughly scratched, _at last, so good_. Drilling torture mixes with waves of lust, singing. His head, _yes, my head, headaches. Maybe, those headaches, maybe I can._ Aoba focuses on the crackling there, inhales, sure he can speak enough. _Just enough… to SCRAP him._ Instead of breathing out the words he needs, his throat constricts and more tears sting his eyes. Ryuuhou thrusts into him smoothly, easily, and deep. He’s no longer intent on teasing Aoba.

The tattooist sees Aoba choking on his words and releases a long sigh, deeply content, floating, so pleased with himself and his work. He savors how the unfinished tattoo looks, shining under beads of sweat. He savors the way Aoba cries and how his brow furrows in pain, frustration, and what looks like concentration. He keeps attempting to say something, but Ryuuhou drives his dick harder into Aoba each time, gleeful at the moans and whimpers he receives in response. He isn’t done playing with Aoba just yet after all, he decides, pulling out so that only the head of his cock is still inside Aoba and watching those flush pink lips try to formulate words once more. Catching a syllable, Ryuuhou jerks the leg resting on his shoulder back, bringing Aoba’s body even closer. He goes to the hilt, sudden and rough. Cruel.

Aoba is furious and torn. His thoughts are undone, his asshole so fucking full. He needs to go far away. Somewhere else, somewhere that’s just pain, nothing there to mix with it and confuse him. _Fine_ , a voice mocks, _since you don’t know what a damn good time feels like even when it fucks you up the ass_.

Ryuuhou senses something different. The boy beneath him isn’t trembling anymore and his breathing has steadied too quickly. Ryuuhou slams into him to get a response, pressing down on the tip of Aoba’s cock. He expects Aoba’s face to contort with pleasure cut by humiliation, an expression that makes his own dick harder, thickening as Aoba clenches down on it. But no. Instead, Aoba moans, a sound of pure lust, almost breathless. And his lips curl into… a _smile_. He’s grinning after two even harder thrusts, tears still streaming down his flushed cheeks. Ryuuhou stops moving.

“Aw, don’t stop so _early_. You in that much of a rush to pull that thing out of me?” The man below him laughs. “Probably not.”

Ryuuhou continues, tightening his grip on Aoba’s leg, nails digging into soft flesh. His eyes flash as he stares down at the boy’s face.

“I didn’t expect to see something like this so soon. How fortunate.” He had believed that he would have to wait for his flowers to flourish across Aoba’s back. He had thought that it would take more to unfasten him. But look, he wasn’t properly fastened to begin with. He’s tearing at the seams, losing himself already. Here lies proof of Ryuuhou’s investment, of the divine canvas he hand-picked himself. Destruction bleeds into reason, overtaking it. How beautifully it stains. How beautifully Aoba writhes and curses, convulsing as he happily takes Ryuuhou.

“Expect me? Ha.” Aoba’s laughter is cut off when Ryuuhou presses the head of his dick again. “Nnn… I’d greet you with open arms but looks I’ve already spread my legs for you. Too bad.” Ryuuhou’s only response is to fuck him harder, eliciting more moans. He watches Aoba bite down on his lip violently enough to draw blood. That’s beautiful too. Ryuuhou is entranced, moving instinctually, forgetting trained movement and technique. Aoba’s leaking precum all over Ryuuhou’s palm and he can see that he’s close. He can hear too.

“Fuck. Ugh. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Hurry up. Damn it. Shit.” Ryuuhou slams into Aoba, and suddenly grabs his hair, eliciting more cries, still carrying more ecstasy than pain. Aoba can’t swear now, his mouth open, drool leaking out, tears streaming, and shivering, cumming, _cumming_. He trembles. White liquid shoots from his cock, painting his chest and abdomen.

Ryuuhou hasn’t finished yet, but he’s close, thrusting into the now quiet boy, who is dazed and barely responsive. He takes in the sight of Aoba’s cum-stained front and ink-stained back and the perfection of it drives him over the edge, and he’s gasping as pleasure shoots up his spine, spreading through his body, hot and electric and pleasant and maddening. He cums inside Aoba and exhales, resting for a moment before pulling out and looking down at his superb work one more time. Aoba’s a mess, barely conscious, his skin decorated with different liquids. How appealing. Ryuuhou collects his things and walks to the door.

“I look forward to our next session, Aoba-kun.”

Aoba doesn’t reply.

**Author's Note:**

> I was so angry that Ryuuhou didn't have a bad ending in DMMd, so I decided to fill that empty place in my heart with this. It's the second time I've ever written fanfiction, but I'm fairly confident it's decent.
> 
> This actually took me forever and a half to finish, only to realize I wanted to write two more chapters. So, look forward to Aoba's slow and lovely unraveling. 
> 
> Comments and such are appreciated.


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